


a box of wine and better off not talking

by sybilius



Series: Black Beats and Low Leads: Leads Notebook [4]
Category: Death Note, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: (SERIOUSLY), Aiber is a talking box of wine, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Bad Sex, Box Wine, Character Study, Depression mention, Detectives, Elevator Shafts, M/M, Money laundering, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Very slightly dubious consent, backstory fic, black beats and low leads, noir, other sorts of shafts, partners in crime, sucidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9515651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: B and Aiber are friends with bad benefits. Where here, bad benefits means occasional shitty sex, and calling each other up for shady favours.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for IndigoJones to flesh out the 'Black Beats and Low Leads' verse. This takes place in February 1996. B's birthday in the timeline is November 10th, if you're curious.
> 
> Be warned this sex was not written to be sexy. This is a character study of two sad assholes who got drunk and fucked each other. Just so you know.

 An elevator shaft is exactly the kind of place kids would expect monsters. Long, echoing, so deep you can barely see what could yawn out from the darkness. Beyond Birthday is far from a kid anymore, which is why he grits his teeth and ignores the cackle and whisper of a grotesque skull-faced monster. _Better that than any of the other ghosts_.

“Fuck, shit, shit shit, this is insane, this is insane,” his partner, a conman by trade, really isn’t up for this sort of climbing and subterfuge. His loud floral-print shirt alone gives that away.

_Yeah, well. Had to avoid the police bust somehow._

Aiber is pressed up close to B, the two of them hugging the ladder between the fourth and fifth floors, shimmying down to the basement. He smells like cologne, but not the cloying, expensive kind B is used to when he’s cozying up to rich crooks. It’s cheap and unfamiliar, and a little like gin. _Focus on that for now._

About two weeks ago, B got a call from Aiber on the private line he gave him ‘in case something came up’. Generally it’s not good form to keep allies with someone who tried to have you killed, but in fairness, B gave as good as he got, so now they’re even.

 _All water under the bridge now._ B thinks ruefully to himself, as Aiber swears again and scrabbles down to the next floor. Aiber had wanted a partner— specifically to bust a money-laundering scam for a mob B had been trying to put the heat on for a while. _For profit, mind you, not for the police. Thought they’re getting what they want right now, too._

Aiber had seemed pretty intense about it, so B took the job, on the condition that he’d take a minor cut of Aiber’s spoils. He hadn’t done much work for cash in a while, and he didn’t much fancy calling A up for a bailout, much as she’d prefer that to him camping under train bridges to keep the gas in his car. _And I’d like to know what the hell he was so desperate for the money for that he’d call me up._

“Jesus fuck, we’re gonna die,” Aiber half-moans, staring downwards, “You know when you asked if I was afraid of heights—“

“Shut up and focus, we have about seven minutes until they figure out how to fix the elevator. We’re not gonna die,” B gives Aiber a bracing look, and it’s true. _His numbers are still good as ever,_ “But we might end up with jail time if you don’t get going.”

They’ve made it to the first floor now, the end is in sight. Better, yet, focusing on Aiber and his bellyaching keeps the adrenaline in his veins and the monsters out of his eyes. B motions to Aiber to follow, hugging his toes in tightly against the precipice of the basement elevator door.

_Lucky it’s not a far fall, from here. Though I don’t much fancy dodging the elevator when it comes back on._

“Okay, now give me a hand with this,” B has jammed the door slightly open with a piece of scrap metal, but they’ve got to do the heavy lifting, wrench open the left-hand door while dangling off the ledge.

“Shit—“ Aiber’s leather shoe slips off the precipice, and B instinctively grabs his hand, dragging his heavy muscle back until other hand grips on to the outer struts.

“You alright?”

“Jesus, you’re stronger than you look,” Aiber manages after he catches his breath, hugging the struts with a gasp.

“Just give me a hand with this, we’ve got barely two minutes now,” They tug the door open together, one arm each, and one on the steel struts for balance. B gives Aiber a bit of a kick to send him tumbling onto the basement floor, following quickly before the door slams together again.

“Come on, get up, get up—“ B makes a mental note to send Aiber on the people jobs next time, not the time-sensitive action jobs. Aiber lumbers upwards and the two of them make a break out the exit, the cameras still smeared with strawberry jam. Aiber doesn’t let out his breath till they’re safe in B’s Black challenger, tucked in the delivery bay, tossing the duffel bag of clean cash in the back seat.

“Well it’s official, Ryu. You are certifiably insane. I can’t believe that worked.”

“Shoulda had more faith,” B lights a cigarette and slides his keys into the ignition, pulling the car out of the parking lot of the _Libra Hotel,_ “Where should I drop you?”

“You kidding? Come on. It’s midnight and we’ve got thirty-eight grand in the back seat. We ought to celebrate.”

_Celebrate. Right._

B knows what Aiber’s brand of ‘celebration’ looks like—getting fucked up, and then, well, getting fucked. B hasn’t screwed anyone since A left for Russia in late November. _Besides for work, which doesn’t count if I don’t get off._

“I don’t wanna go anywhere tonight.”

“Just a drink back at my room then? Come on. We can order in dinner if you wanna, then count out the money and never have to look at each other again.”

_He’s eager, huh. Company wouldn’t kill me, I guess._

B takes a drag and nods noncommittally, passing Aiber the pack, “You don’t know I’m not gonna call you next time.”

“To be honest, Ryu,” Aiber lights up the cigarette, giving him what B knows to be his best sales grin, “I’m kinda counting on it. But for fuck’s sake, no more elevator shafts. ”

* * *

“Wine from a box? Really?” B has to raise an eyebrow, even as he nibbles at the room service spread across the desk top littered with coffee rings and a few bottles of coke. The nacho offering, at least, is pretty decent, though B still isn’t that hungry.

 _Should be, given how little I’ve eaten, but._ _Not a lot tastes good these days._ Still, B knows he should eat, and the caustic knot of loneliness in his chest is usually a little looser after a case finishes. _So I’ll have to._

 _Can’t get any better if I don’t._ He brushes his hand to his pocket instinctively, wondering if this is the case worth calling about. If it’s enough to interest him.

_Enough to keep us from talking about anything else._

“Look, if you wanted the classy shit, we should have gone out,” Aiber sets up the box on the countertop with a grin, and B shakes his thoughts back to the present.

“I’m not stopping you, go ahead,” B pops an olive in his mouth as Aiber passes him wine in a shitty foam cup meant for coffee.

“Nah, honestly, this is good. Less like work. Way easier than the bars anyways, don’t have to worry about anyone beating me up tonight cause I hit on the wrong person.”

“You think that, but—“  B raises a finger, and Aiber throws back his head and laughs. He has a nice, casual smile on. _Same one he used when he tried to hit on me when I was in disguise._

 _Huh._ B takes a sip of the wine, which is strong and appropriately terrible. It hadn’t occurred to him that if fucking was on the table, it would be the two of them. _But how bad an idea is that, really?_

 _It’s not a_ good _idea, but at the very least he’s nothing like A._

 _Or Lawliet_. B winces as the wine finishes that sentence for him, his stomach clenching hollow like it often does at night, swallowing up while he tries to force sleep out from under the memories. The end of a case always comes this way

 _Is getting drunk really the best plan, here?_ B hasn’t gotten smashed since before Mexico, and that was a fuck-ton of a bad idea. _Everything about Mexico was a fucking bad idea, yet the only thing I regret is making it out the other side._

Still, there was the card in his pocket. And the cases, he’d picked them up again with a vengeance, thanks to A. _And shit, let’s circle back to her again_ , B thinks with a pang, taking another gulp of wine.

 _Should be grateful to her, but all I feel is guilty she got hurt picking up my sorry ass. What the hell would Lawliet say if he could see me now?_ B doesn’t know, and isn’t sure if he wants to.

 _No. Truth is, I still wanna know._ That’s the worst of it, really. But the wine is making it hurt a tiny bit less, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s not drinking among strangers this time around.

“Yeah, this is how to celebrate a heist,” Aiber pours himself a second glass, settling on to the couch next to B, “I’ve got gin for laters, if you’re interested. Probably some sugar cubes if you wanna make yourself a mix. And to think you’re snubbing your nose at my box wine.”

“Touche,” B knows his taste in homemade mixed drinks is… a little unusual to say the least. Most people don’t particularly like drinking molasses, let alone blackstrap and whiskey.

“Come on, Ryu, I see you smirking. Admit this is a little fun.”  

“Beats sleeping under a bridge, I guess,” that one slips out before B can stop it, and Aiber laughs a moment before it catches up with him. Then his brow furrows deeply, gaping at B slightly.

“You serious?”

“I said I needed the money, alright?” _And apparently the food, this shitty wine is hitting me harder than I’d like._ B takes a few bites of the wings that Aiber ordered, which are barely tangy, let alone spicy.

“Yeah, but Jesus. I mean, was this while we were planning it too? Why didn’t you sleep in your car, or some shit?”

“That’d just get me arrested. And I need that car.”

“It was below fifty degrees last night!”

“Don’t sleep much anyways.”

“Yeah, but for god’s sake, take your cut and get yourself a room tonight,” Aiber looks legitimately concerned, which is…interesting. _Since when did he ever give a fuck?_

“Do you want it now?”

“Nah, you’re right, I’m enjoying this alright,” B reaches for Aiber’s glass and refills it, clunking them together. He shrugs off his leather jacket while he’s at it, _and yeah, he’s barely even hiding that once-over. Right._

Aiber isn’t exactly unattractive, though he’s the opposite of B’s type. All slick muscle and strong jaw, winning smiles and nothing gritty about him. _Nothing sweet and dirty and real—just another sad piece of ass on the streets._

 _Someone like me._ Come the night B knows, that’s where he begins and ends.

“So what’s this all about?” B knocks his second glass to Aiber’s fourth, figuring he can learn more about him now that Aiber is a few drinks ahead.

“Ahh, shit that doesn’t mean anything,” Aiber forces on a stupid-looking grin, “Can’t I just say, in it for the cash, and let it lie?”

“I’m serious though, what did you need the money for? Fair’s fair.”

Aiber regards him with eyes that are still mostly focused, “It’s Lilith. She’s. She’s pregnant.”

B raises his eyebrows high. _Alright, so girlfriend. Maybe I misjudged what he was after._ B isn’t _disappointed_ , per se. More mildly surprised than anything else. _Alright maybe a little disappointed._

“So you’re gonna be a dad, shit.”

“I don’t even know if I’m the father, we’re not…she’s just. She’s something else, alright?” Aiber seems upset by the whole thing.

“Hey, I’m not judging you wanting to help a pregnant woman out. Girlfriend or no.”

Aiber snorts, “I wish. I’m too much of a fuckup to deserve her.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” B takes a hard sip of his wine, but it hurts less to say it aloud, for now. _Maybe that’s the alcohol talking._ B does feel a little warmer, a little looser, a little calmer.

_Or maybe it’s been a while since I’ve been with a friend. Months at least._

“What about you, huh?” Aiber rolls his head towards B exaggeratedly, but there’s a sober curiousity on his eyes, “What’s this all about?”

“I told you, I needed the money—

“Not that, the whole vigilante bit. Trying to impress a girl or somethin’?”

B sets down his wine harder than necessary, a familiar dread creeping up in his throat again, “Not a girl.”

“Oh,” Aiber looks momentarily dumbfounded, and B gives him a bit of a death glare, “Hey, don’t gimme that, it’s not what I meant. I swing both ways too, I guess I was just…surprised. Especially given that babe who said she was yours right before she knocked me out and lifted my keys.

“Yeah, also me, dumbass. You’re not super observant when you’re drunk.”

“Oh. Sorry I grabbed your ass, I guess,” Aiber seems more mellowed than shocked by this particular revelation, though B supposes he’s already put two and two together after B’s choice of disguise for the recon with the Libra manager.

 _Would you have apologized if I had come as ‘Nadia’?_ B wants to snark, but figures he’ll let that one go. Aiber was fairly respectful, as far as most drunk guys he’d come on to for information went. And ‘Nadia’ was flirty, _right up until I knocked him out in that closet._

“So what’s he like?”

“Fucking impossible.”

“Anything like me?”

 _Oh Jesus Christ._ B starts to laugh, a giddy, helpless yelp of sorts, and Aiber joins in too. _Yeah, I’m a little drunk now. Not that drunk._

He gets ahold of himself, setting the cup down, “Not a damn thing, lucky for you.”

 _And for me._ B thinks somewhat ruefully, downing the last swig of the wine. By now Aiber has crept closer on the couch, their thighs pressed together in a way that’s more comfortable and warm than anything else.

“Are we drunk enough to fuck yet?” the question slips out of B before he means it to, but Aiber regards him with a shit-eating grin. He’s already hard in those cheap dress pants, and has been for a while.

“You know what you’re here for, huh?” Aiber runs a hand along B’s bicep, and it makes B want to laugh, rather than shudder. Then maybe rip the buttons off his shirt and show him how it’s done.

“I know what you’re here for.”

“I’m not fucking unless you want it.” Aiber drops his hand. _Well, he has standards, at least._

“I want to fuck you,” B says it particularly barefaced, because after all, it is true, “Or I just want to fuck.”

Aiber shrugs sidelong, “Close enough, I guess. That’s about where I’m at, too.”

B crawls into his lap and strips off the buttons of that atrocity of a shirt, keeping the intensity of his eyes directly on Aiber’s wide blue ones. _Yeah, I’m fucking good at this._

_But today I’m not interested in good._

“Were you thinking about this in the elevator?” He whispers after mouthing hot breath along Aiber’s adam’s apple all the way to his earlobe, unzipping his pants to grip on to his already hard cock.

“Was more thinking about us not getting killed, you?”

“Yeah, same, or arrested,” he lets his hips twitch back and forth on Aiber’s lap, getting a gasp for his trouble. Aiber palms the front of his skinny-jeans greedily, and yeah, B’s hard now too, “Doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea.”

_I just want to stop thinking about everything._

Aiber runs his hands underneath the black tee B wears, which seem huge against B’s pale skin, even from where B is sitting. He’s clumsy with the undressing, and even worse with B’s zipper, which B just slaps his hand away, “Just take off your own pants, dumbass.”

It’s nice not to bother with the song and dance strip show, either. B shimmies out of his skinny jeans, lithe and quick, and then Aiber does surprise him a little once he’s naked, dropping to his knees and dragging B in close to go down on him.

 _Which, you know, would be decent if he had any finesse, shit._ B almost wants to laugh, but makes it come out as a gasp. Aiber’s mouth is hot and engulfing at least, even if his gag reflex is shit, and his slobber is getting everywhere.

“You really do wanna get fucked tonight, don’t you?” It’s sleazy and it’s cheap, but the detachment is what B wants, and it’s clearly what Aiber wants, too. B lets him go at it for a while, back and forth with raspy cheeks against his thighs when he licks at his balls. Eventually B’s pretty sure he can stay hard long enough to get him prepped.

He shoves him off, “Alright, you ready for this?”

Aiber stares at him almost stupidly for a moment before B slaps his ass, “Go on, flip over. I’ve got lube and condoms in my bag.”

“Come prepared, huh?” Aiber stares a moment, “You know you look a lot younger without the jacket, huh? Like some kinda jailbait.”

“Sure you’re not talking about yourself? Have you been fucked before?” B is surprised how conversational his voice is, even though he’s definitely turned on—it seems both distant and immediate at the same time. His fingers have enough lube to give it a shot, and he hesitates for Aiber’s nod.

“Tried everything at least once,” B can tell, once he gets his fingers in there. Aiber is a needy bastard, and a greedy one at that. It’s easy enough to find his prostate, and his whole body shudders and moans when B grazes his fingers over it.

“That makes two of us,” B doesn’t waste too much time either, seeing as Aiber seems to have forgotten that it takes two to tango, and is just trying to get as much traction on B’s fingers as possible, his cock leaking precum on the already stained rug.

 _Could draw it out to torture him, but I think I’d rather get off quick._ The sight of Aiber’s muscled ass eating at his fingers isn’t too bad either, not a view he gets too often. B pulls out slowly, and Aiber shudders a little bit, a needy

“Come _on,_ Ryu, this ain’t my first rodeo,”

B slaps him again, then slams into him at full force, ripping a gasp out of him, “I’m gonna give you rug burn for that, you asshole.”

It’s not pretty. It’s snapping of hips, gasping back and forth amidst sweat and a spine thicker than B even thought he’d be fucking behind, even for work. Aiber shoots off in an alarmingly short period, but B doesn’t let up on him, thrusting and slamming his entire being into the action, heat building in his groin.

It’s not memory, it’s not beautiful, it’s not terrible.

It’s nothing but bodies for once. B comes thinking about absolutely nothing except the beat of his heart and the sweat on his forehead. The two of them collapse in an unruly tangle in the rug, which now smells a little like soda. _Oh shit, we knocked that off the coffee table._ B can’t really bring himself to care, really.

_It’s alright. Thought might think that cause of the wine. Who the fuck knows._

“Okay, okay, get off me,” Aiber grumbles after a few minutes.

“Is that any way to talk to someone who just got you off, and handed you your ass?” B manages to snark, as his brain functions come back on.

“You’re good,” Aiber is still a little out of breath, “I’ll give you that.”

“You’re shit, but I know what I’m doing.”

“You wound me,” Aiber mock-gasps, and then slumps against the corner of the bed. He struggles to get himself upright, swaying a little, “Sleep? You look like hell.”

“Don’t even think about trying to cuddle, and you’ve got a deal.”

* * *

 

The room smells like sweat and gin when B wakes tangled up in the covers, surprised that his dreams are an incoherent blur as opposed to the usual cold-sweat memory flashes that come when he gets drunk. He sits up slowly, glancing at the bulk of Aiber’s form curled up on the opposite side of the bed. B stares the blond hair on his meaty arms and waits for the uncomfortable wave of self-loathing that usually follows screwing someone for work, or staring at A’s hair fanning across his pillow.

 _Not this time, I guess._ He frowns, stretching upwards and taking a swig of the half-empty bottle of coke on the bedside. For the moment, B feels nothing more than pleasantly rested, the residual glow of the case still tucked in the back of his mind.

  _That’s funny. I mean, do I want to fuck him again?_

 _Not a chance_. B smirks wryly, shaking off the covers and reaching for his boxers. _Jesus, he was terrible at it. I hope for Lilith’s sake he’s better at women, and he screws sober._

That brings in a wave of the usual ache of loneliness, that gut-wrenching hole that makes B want to curl up in the back of his car until someone else starts it up and starts driving, anywhere. B brushes the hair out of his eyes, focusing on the case they just nailed. _That was a neat one. Libra laundering scam, one to write home about._

Not that he’s replied to Lawliet’s stilted birthday card just yet. He touches his hand to the pocket in his jacket where the card is tucked up.

 _I’ll call him when…when though?_ It’s been months since his birthday. The last time he heard Lawliet’s voice still echoes in B’s mind, that awful, flat tone he’d used when B was on the knife edge of becoming what his eyes made him. _God, why the fuck would he want us to talk? He made that clear then._

 _But he said he wanted to hear from me._ B holds on to that, pulling the card out of his pocket to confirm it. He uncreases the tight, messy handwriting that he grew up adoring, scanning the black ink like he half-believes it will have disappeared.

_‘B_

_Thanks for the Christmas card._

_Hope to hear from you soon._

_L.’_

_There it is. Got it in writing._ He folds it up reverently, an odd sense of purpose overtaking the knot in his stomach. _Has it really been enough time? Have I done enough?_ He shoulders his bag, reaching for the doorknob thoughtlessly.

“Don’t even think about it,” Aiber mumbles without lifting his head from the pillow, “You’re gonna get us breakfast so that my head doesn’t implode, and I’m paying because I can see your ribs even with my double vision. Fuck.”

B smirks a little, trepidation forgotten for the moment. _Guess I can’t leave that sad fuck to vomit all over the sheets. And yeah, haven’t eaten this regularly in a while. Could do me good._

He orders breakfast in from the diner a few blocks over that does a decent delivery bag. Bacon and egg breakfast sandwiches, strawberry milkshakes with a side of jam (and toast, but the toast is really just for Aiber).

Aiber remains taciturn thoughout breakfast, but perks up a little when they get coffee. He stares at B a little funny throughout, but mostly sticks to small talk, and how they can keep in touch when they both want another deal. Before long they start sorting out the money, and yeah. Things are normal again.

 _He’s still an asshole._ B can’t help but be a little fond about that.

“How old are you?” Aiber asks, suddenly thoughtful as they pack up.  

“Sixteen. Be seventeen in November,” B doesn’t bother lying.

“Jesus fuck. You know that wasn’t even legal?”

“Aiber—of all the things we did last night—“

“Okay, okay, point taken,” Aiber shrugs on his suit jacket, “So where’s a kid like you learn how to do any of this?”

“Call me kid and I’ll cut your eye out. I’m serious about that one.”

“Alright, alright. You act older than I do, anyways,” Aiber has the bag open, and is counting out B’s ten grand from their ill-gotten gains. B tries not to let himself feel too bad about that.

Knowing that it’s blood money makes that a little easier, paradoxically.

“You’re the one about to be a baby daddy.”

“Shit, that’s right, I told you about that too.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” B nods, the weight of his ten grand heavy in the paper bag Aiber passes him. _Shit, but do I really need this? More than a kid who could get something better out of life?_

“Look, Aiber, if you’re handing this money off to the mom and the baby—I don’t really need ten grand—“

“Shut up,” Aiber says it almost fiercely, “Don’t kid me like that. You’re taking it and that’s final. We had a deal. I might want to call you for others. And I can’t do that if you freeze to death sleeping under a bridge, right?”

Aiber’s posture is surprisingly intense, his gaze serious for once. _I mean, I’m here, right? I’m not gonna go over the edge. I’m past that._

 “Right,” B shoulders the pack and nods, “I’ll see you then. Good luck with the kid.”

“If she lets me anywhere near it. Good luck with whoever he is. And good luck to him, too, he’ll need it,”

B flips Aiber off as he heads out, smiling as he does so. He doesn’t head for his car just yet, blinking a little in the outside air. Trying to feel out what to do next, where to go, who to nab.  

_Libra Money Laundering, huh._

_Maybe Lawliet would want to hear about their strategy._ It’s a sunny day in Chicago, and there’s a pay phone not far from here.

B hopes it’s up for the connection to London.


End file.
